Chapter 52
Ipress my hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp as the necrotized revenants draw their swords and advance. It’s horrific. Their movements are erratic. Blood still leaks from their bodies. The air crackles with necrotic energy as they slash and hack into the two petrified guards.
I’m too shocked to look away, too brutally transfixed by Desmond controlling the dead guards. This is different from the skeletons in the chasm and the draugr. These are Avedorans who held life only minutes before, stumbling about like puppets.
All necromancers must be executed.
It takes every ounce of my control not to vomit.
Another guard thunders down the stairs, and at the sight of the massacre, he turns around and sprints back up. One of the revenants follows, and a scream echoes down.
“It’s clear, so let’s go!” Brandur yells down.
The revenants collapse. Desmond stares at their lifeless husks. His chest heaves, and his face pales. Even as Auri, Rune, and Finnian pass him, he doesn’t move. Min looks back at us once before following the others.
“We have to go,” I quietly say.
I can tell that using his powers burdens him, as though every body he raises stains his soul.
I don’t want him to feel that way. He can’t help what Gift he was born with, and he only uses it to save the people he loves.
In his memory, when he ran through the Hollowlands’ forests and forced his undead allies to help him escape, I saw how guilty he felt saving himself.
I heard him beg for their forgiveness, and his anguished cry still haunts me.
Auri told me that afterward, he drowned his guilt in alcohol for months.
How could a man so kind hate himself so much?
“I didn’t hesitate.” Desmond’s jaw clenches. “I was angry, seeing what they did to Finnian, imagining what they’d do to you if we were caught. All that rage called to me and I just. . . used them. You were scared.”
I reach for his hand. “You wanted to protect us. I’m not afraid.
” That’s who he is at his core—someone who wants to protect the world.
He was willing to sacrifice himself to end the war instead of using his magic to win it by force.
No matter how unsettling his Gift is, I will never let it change how I feel about him.
He doesn’t believe me. His expression is full of shame and self-loathing as he intertwines his fingers with mine and squeezes. “Do you remember when I told you that only fools have no fear?”
I frown at him. Of course I remember.
He smiles. It’s shy, barely curving his lips, but a smile all the same. “I’m grateful for your courage today.”
“So I’m normally just a fool, then,” I retort, arching a brow.
His eyes widen. “No! I meant I’m glad you aren’t afraid of me—you should be—but it doesn’t make you a fool that you’re not, because—” He cuts himself off and groans. “I wanted to tell you—”
“Desmond.” I smirk at him. “You really know how to charm a woman.”
The flush of his cheeks is all the reward I need. “Perhaps I’m in need of practice.”
“Do you need an escort to climb the stairs? An invitation, perhaps?” Rune shouts down the spiral steps.
We trade smiles, mine teasing and his still stained with his sorrow.
Then we hurry up the staircase and funnel out into the hallway above.
Three unconscious guards are piled against the wall.
Brandur shoves their bodies down the staircase and slams the door shut.
“Which way to the ballroom?” he gruffly asks.
“There’s a passage for the keep’s staff through those doors,” Rune says, pointing. “When we’re inside it, everyone should mutter their magic word. Then we’ll perform a bit of our own magic on the fae’s ears.”
“What about my. . ?” Finnian winces.
“Despite the pain I know you must be in, you need to act like you’ve been missing your hand for years,” Rune answers.
“And as much as it breaks my heart to say this, it’s best if you venture to the Hollowlands with the other traitors.
Your face will be on every wall in this city with some monetary reward or other. ”
He’s right, I realize with a grimace. I never considered that the fae would all have to leave Avedor for good. I’d been too focused on the rescue to think about what would come after.
We follow Rune into a cramped hallway lacking windows. It inclines to the main level above, and the steady beat of a waltz echoes.
I look down at my form-fitting black clothes and boots one last time. “Presumptuous.”
Soft fabric blooms from my waistline. It unfurls like petals until it brushes against the floor in bursts of a dark, inky blue with subtle silver glitter like the night sky. Toward my delicate heeled shoes, the skirt fades to the soft gray-white of the moon.
My gambeson tightens, the neckline shimmering until it sweeps in two gentle curves lined with glimmering white gems. The curve dips low enough to show a hint of the swell of my breasts. Sweeping swaths of organza flutter from the off-shoulder straps. They unfurl behind me like a cape of starlight.
Then I gasp as cold metal caresses my face, curving across my nose and around my eyes.
I remove the mask to marvel at it, an intricate work of deep navy metal that shines blue and black in the torchlight. Its delicate filigree is adorned with tiny gems cut into the phases of the moon.
If only that inked crescent still kissed my wrist. I can’t help but stare at the bare skin until Desmond grabs my hand, covering it. His fingers trail up my arm, eliciting a shiver, and he cups my cheek.
“Not even the stars outshine you,” he whispers into my ear. “How is that for practice?”
I shiver, heat rushing to my face. My skin sings at his touch, and his praise melts my core. I’ve never felt so beautiful.
“You’re a quick learner,” I whisper back.
He looks away, his gaze haunted again as if caught in the horrors of the last few days.
“Hey. Eyes on me.” I tilt his head toward mine. “It’s going to be alright.”
Seconds pass before he nods. His smile is unsteady. Then he grips the tie at the end of my braid and pulls it free, releasing waves of my blond hair made silky by Nog’s magic. He runs his fingers through it as if he could never get enough of me.
Rune clears his throat. “I see that Nog’s outdone herself, as usual.”
“And my weapons?” I pat my thighs, although it’s difficult through the skirts. “I don’t feel my holsters. And where’s my pack?”
“They’re concealed in a pocket of Nog’s magic, or something.
Don’t think too hard about it. Thinking creates wrinkles, after all, which you lack the Gift to erase.
” Rune grins, then turns away from me. “Finnian, you need to change into the clothes Nog made for you. They’re enchanted with a disguise. ”
I hand Finnian the clothes from my pack. Desmond helps him dress while the rest of us avert our gazes.
Rune smirks at Auri. “Your word to release the enchantment is ‘irascible.’”
She scoffs. “I am not easily angered.”
Finnian looks away, whistling. No comment from me.
Usually, she’d glare at Finnian. Instead, a faint smile curves her lips like she’s glad he’s in high enough spirits to tease her. “Irascible.”
Her clothing transforms into a blood-red ball gown, roses blooming from the deep neckline of her bodice. A pattern of vines adorns her skirt. Silken red slippers tied with criss-crossed ribbons peek out as she kicks her feet, grimacing. She frowns at her mask, adorned with tiny rosebuds and thorns.
Finnian smiles wryly. “I see Nog went for prickly.”
“Watch your tongue,” she replies, but it’s lacking her usual bite.
Brandur’s enchanted attire is not the same one he wore in the carriage. Now it’s a crimson much darker than his hair. As he examines the suit with a fanged grimace, I notice subtle rose motifs that match Auri’s.
She notices, too, and raises a brow. “I hope it’s obvious that you’re not my type.”
He harrumphs.
“Devoid,” Min says, interrupting them. Her stealthwear transforms into a black gown with a shimmering iridescent hue, a provocative slit along one thigh. The neckline curls up and around her neck, with a wider slit between her breasts that highlights their heavy curves.
Finnian’s throat bobs. I expect him to comment, but all he does is repeat Rune’s “knave.” He blinks in shock as his gambeson thins into a doublet with the same shifting colors—dark green, violet, and black.
A sheer cape flows down his back as gold embroidery decorates his collar, following the buttons down his chest.
He admires the suit, but grimaces when he holds out his arms. “Least the sleeve covers the tourniquet. It still hurts like hell, even after drinking Maeve’s tonic.” His voice cracks.
“Tourniquet or not, you are handsome,” Min says, solemnly curtsying before him.
“Handsome?” he stammers.
I hate to ruin their moment, but the longer we’re here, the more likely we are to be caught. “Desmond, your word is ‘brooding.’”
Who knew Nog had a sense of humor?
Desmond shakes his head, a fond smile playing at his lips. His gaze grows more melancholic the longer it lingers on Finnian. “Brooding.”
My pulse flutters as his clothing transforms into a suit that complements my gown.
The intricate, swirling silver embroidery winding from the midnight blue doublet’s hem glistens like starlight, and the crisp shirt underneath matches the moon-gray of my underskirt.
The mask that scrolls across his face bears similar scrollwork to my own, but it’s wider, cut in masculine angles.
I don’t know if I want to tell Nog off for making us look like a couple, or squeeze her with a hug. Either way, she’d threaten to snack on my toes.
Desmond runs a hand through his curls, pensive as he finds no tangles or crusts of blood. “How long will it last?”
“Midnight,” Rune says with a conspiratorial smirk. “Just like the faerytales.” He reaches into a pouch and molds clay to Finnian’s ears, then moves on to Auri. She bares her teeth at him but acquiesces. Last, he grabs a glob matching Desmond’s skin and rounds his ears.
“There,” Rune says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “I advise you all to dance a little, drink and eat merrily, for the ball has just begun. Leaving so early would cast suspicion on you.”
“Suspicions on us?” My brows furrow. He’s plotting something. “Are you not coming with?”
Rune grins. “This is where I depart for my detour.”
His hair recedes into his scalp until it’s as short as Kieran’s. His skin bunches and stretches like putty in a child’s hands, and when the morphing is finished, he looks identical to the male guard he slew.
He winks at me. “Don’t forget your promise.”
Desmond’s eyes narrow. “Promise?”
But Rune is already dashing off.
He didn’t. He didn’t just ditch the plan.
“This is why you don’t do a job in a job,” Brandur mutters.
Desmond offers me his arm. I link mine in his, swallowing back my nerves as we walk down the hall. The symphony’s melodic waltz is muffled by the closed door at the end. That door is all that stands between us and freedom, if we’re lucky enough not to be caught.
I swallow. I hope our disguises are enough to fool the guards.
“Cynthia,” Desmond whispers. He gently tips my chin up and smiles. Even with his mask, I can see the sorrowful yearning in his hazel eyes, and I don’t understand it. Why is he sad?
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
My pulse stutters from surprise. This might be the first time he’s thanked me, and he said it directly instead of the roundabout way of the fae.
Too stunned to speak, I nod. I would’ve rescued him no matter if he was grateful or not. Nothing would’ve stopped me until I could see him again and hear his voice again.
Brandur pushes the door open, and the ballroom’s gleaming light spills into the hall.